


Take Him (Cut Him Out in Little Stars)

by InkFlavored



Series: PuzzleJune 2019 [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egyptian Deities, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, References to Depression, i seem to be doing a lot of that lately lol, i tried to keep it as accurate as possible without becoming an egyptologist lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkFlavored/pseuds/InkFlavored
Summary: Most people think of light and silence as comforting things. To Yugi, they're anything but. Atem's mind is tearing itself to pieces and no one understands.PuzzleJune 2019 (Week 3: Light)





	Take Him (Cut Him Out in Little Stars)

**Author's Note:**

> happy week three! i'm subverting expectations by making "light" a mostly sad prompt! gotcha, suckers!
> 
> also, the official theme song of this piece is Persia by Until the Ribbon Breaks. I listened to it on repeat while writing this.

There is such a thing as _too much_ light. Staring into the sun is a bad idea, unless you want to go blind. Pointing flashlight into someone’s face has similar side-effects, and if you’ve ever flicked on a lamp in the middle of the night, you know just how badly that goes. Your eyes aren’t prepared for so much light at once. They can’t handle it – for better or for worse.  

Yugi is reminded of all of these things as he watches those magnificent doors swallow up his Other Self for good. Fat tears roll down his cheeks, only strengthening the heavenly glow, burning the image into his retinas -- the image of the Pharaoh Atem transforming into the person he truly is. Or was.

The doors shut slowly, grinding against the stone floor, blocking out the light bit by bit. A single, dark skinned hand is the only thing left of his Other Self, and it's about to be gone.

Yugi suddenly wants to run to those doors, yank them open, and drag Atem back by his disappearing hand, out of the afterlife, back into the living world, back to Japan, back to _him_. He wants Atem to turn around and decide, _No. Not today. I'm not finished yet._

But Yugi doesn't run. Atem doesn't turn. And the doors shut so tightly they don't even look like doors at all. It's so dark compared to that heavenly light, that blinding light, that _tortuous_ light--

"Hey. Yug'?"

Yugi jumps at the sound of Jou's voice, instinctively reaching for a Puzzle that's no longer there. He scrubs at his eyes with trembling hands.

"You okay?" Jou asks again, approaching cautiously, like he's trying not to frighten a wild animal.

Yugi wants to lie. He wants to smile and say he's happy for his Other Self. He wants to dry his eyes until the next time he can be alone, where he can break down and sob his throat raw.

But he looks into Jou's eyes and finds that he doesn't have the strength to be okay. So he shakes his head with a watery smile, lets his best friend wrap an arm around his shoulders, and cries.

And cries and cries and cries.

 

 

Yugi can't look at bright lights anymore. He buys dark curtains for the windows in his room because the sun creeping in without warning always ties his stomach into knots. He has to take care not to glance up in class, or the fluorescent lights drilled into the ceiling bring hot tears to his eyes. He buys sunglasses to wear when even going outside is too much, when the afternoon sun forces the memory of that tomb back into his mind.

He can't open doors with lights behind them without shaking.

He tries to keep up appearances, for his family and friends' sake if nothing else. He jokes about the curtains making it easier to sleep in (he wakes up when it's still dark now), he pretends to be paying attention in class (he struggles to keep his grades up), he talks about not wanting to damage his eyesight (he'd rather be blind).

He doesn't have an excuse for the doors. No excuse for the hesitance when he sees light filter through the crack between the floor. Either no one asks or no one notices, and he's grateful and bitter about that.

He almost wants people to notice. To ask. To see exactly what he struggles with. To make the connection between the bright lights and the dark hole in his heart. But the thought of people pitying him, treating him like they used to before Atem showed him confidence, makes him sick. He's strong on his own. He's capable without the Pharaoh. He _is_ \-- he knows he is.

What makes it difficult is that he doesn't _feel_ strong without the Pharaoh.

Yugi knows that he can do anything he sets his mind to. He knows that kindness is not a weakness -- in fact, it's his biggest strength. He understands what makes a leader -- a _true_ leader -- is not authority or aggression, but a passionate heart and willingness to work together. He knows his friends will always be there for him, and he knows that they're with him, even if it doesn't feel like it.

Yugi _feels_ like he's half asleep every day. He _feels_ like his entire life is a dream, that he's just waiting to wake up from. He _feels_ like he's being dragged across a desert, waist deep in sand, but can't be bothered to pick himself up to walk. He feels hopeless and weak and small. He feels alone with Atem gone. He feels _so_ alone.

The only thing worse than the light is the silence. The unmitigated silence in his mind, in his heart, in his _soul_. The lack of emotions streaming through him at a steady pace, the lack of hearing another's voice inside his head, is enough to drive him completely insane. He talks to himself and waits for an answer that will never come. He tries to share a confusing feeling through a connection that doesn't exist. He searches for a guiding hand that isn't there, for a smile that he can no longer see, for a voice that he can no longer hear. His mind is completely silent and still. Like a brightly lit empty room: he can see everything clearly, and that everything is _nothing._

Most people think of light and silence as comforting things. To Yugi, they’re anything but.

 

 

Pharaoh Atem made a mistake.

He realizes this the moment he gets to _Aaru_ and turns to his partner to ask, "What do you think?"

Of course, his partner doesn't answer. And in that moment, something breaks in him.

He does not want this.

He doesn't want to go to _Aaru_ , not yet. He thought he had to because of his duty to fate, to his destiny, to his family and friends. He thought it would be the right choice, despite personal reservations. He convinced himself he wanted this. But he didn't. He _doesn't_.

He wants Yugi.

He wants to be at his partner's side. He wants to see him smile. He wants to work together again, solving puzzles and playing games. He wants the closeness, the feeling of belonging that he always felt when he was with Yugi. He wants his life back.

He knows that now, and it's an eternal ache in his soul.

He spends most of his days in _Aaru_ lamenting his loss. He escapes the palace he calls his home for who knows how long to lay in the sand and stare into the sun. He can feel no physical pain. His body is eternal.

But his mind? His mind is tearing itself to pieces and no one understands.

They try, of course. Mana is as cheerful as ever, but she makes time for the Pharaoh to be slow, to be sad, to be mellow. Mahad offers him the gift of silence – when words are not adequate, he goes to the magician. Set offers him bluntness, the kind he could always expect, the kind that shoves him back onto he feet whether he wants it or not. His parents offer condolences, they offer advice, they offer him fond memories. They all _try_. And Atem hurts all the more knowing it.

It’s not hard for him to notice the sad looks they give each other when they think his back is turned. It’s not hard to hear the false excitement in their voices on the days when all he talks about is Yugi, all he thinks about is his partner. It’s not hard for Atem to know they’re hiding their disappointment, that after thousands of years they finally get him – their son, friend, _king_ – back, and he is heartbroken, disinterested in his old life, and the only thing he thinks about is someone they’ve never met.

They try. But they don’t _understand_.

Atem is sitting on a dune in the sand one afternoon. He has no idea how long he has been away from Yugi – time moves differently in _Aaru_ – but he knows that no matter how long it’s been, he will never stop thinking about his partner. Lost to time.

He flops over onto his back, letting the hot wind brush over his face and through his hair, letting the sun beat down on him. The weather is perfect, as always, and he finds himself resenting it the more time he spends in _Aaru_. He wishes it was hotter. He wishes the sun would burn itself into his skin and make him raw. He wishes it would rain violently with shrieking wind and raging clouds. He wishes for _anything_ other than another cursed, perfect day in _Kemet_.

“Why do you always come here, my son?”

Atem does not move as Akhenamkhanen sits in the sand beside him. He does not need to look. His father often chases him wherever he goes to be alone.

“I am mourning,” he answers flatly. As if he needs to explain.

“You have been mourning since the moment you arrived in paradise. Is it not time to—”

“To move on?” He clenches his jaw tight.

“Yes, Atem. This person you speak of, your...  _abu?"_

“ _Aibou_ ,” he corrects. “And his name is Yugi.”

Akhenamkhanen sighs. “Yes. This ‘Yugi’ of yours. I understand his is very important to you—”

“He saved my life more times than I can count. In more ways than one.”

 “So you’ve said. But this Yugi – do you not think he wants you to be happy?”

Atem throws one arm over his eyes. He remembers the Ceremonial Duel. He remembers the tears he used every inch of his willpower not to shed. He remembers the pleading, tearful look Yugi gave him as he turned around, the voice in his head screaming at him not to look back – _don’t look back, don’t look back, if you look back you’ll never leave, don’t look back,_ don’t _look at him –_ and the light and the sound and the feeling of being peeled away from the air.

“He does want me to be happy,” he says, finally, taking his arm away to stare into the sun again. “But I want him to be happy too.” Yugi’s crying face appears in his mind and he aches.

“How do you know he isn’t?” Akhenamkhanen counters. “You’ve said yourself that you wanted to give him space to live his own life. How do you know he isn’t glad for the opportunity?”

An angry lump forms in Atem’s throat. “Don’t say that,” he warns.

“How do you know that he isn’t happy to see you gone?”

“Do not—”

“I’m sure he cared for you while you were together, but there is relief in letting go, sometimes.”

“Father—”

“It’s not wrong to consider the possibility that he might not—”

“Stop!”

Atem jumps to his feet, flexing his hands in and out of fists, chest heaving, red bordering at the edge of his vision. He rounds on Akhenamkhanen, still sitting in the sand.

“You have no right to speak of him that way,” he hisses.

He looks surprised, but not regretful. “I am Pharaoh.”

“So am I.”

“You are a child.”

“I was trapped in the Pendant for _three thousand years_. And who’s fault is that?”

“Atem—”

“No. You don’t get to tell me who I should care about. You don’t get to tell me who cares about _me_. I was _alive_ with Yugi – as alive as I could possibly be – and now you said I should be glad to have left him? That I should be happy to die? That I should be content with giving up the one I love?”

Atem only catches the slip after it leaves his mouth and bites his own tongue in retribution. That's the one thing about Yugi he never told anybody. Until now, that is.

He is not afraid of the initial reaction. He knows there is nothing his father can do about it, and Atem refuses to change who he is. What he is afraid of, however, is spending the rest of eternity with someone who disapproves.

He can't think about that now. Atem draws himself up, squaring his shoulders and righting his spine, trying to embody the God-King of his birthright. He thinks about Yugi.

Akhenamkhanen is silent for a long while, staring up into his son's determined eyes. Then he stands. Brushes the sand off of his legs. And walks away.

He leaves Atem, standing in the sand, with an aching heart and a troubled mind.

 

 

"I'm sorry," Yugi says, awkwardly shifting in his seat, "but I don't think I can do this anymore."

He almost closes his eyes to avoid seeing Anzu's reaction, but to his surprise, she's smiling.

"That's okay," she says. "To be honest, I could tell."

He winces a little. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "I know that I asked you out first, but--"

"Yugi. It's okay, I promise."

He lets out his breath in a slow stream. "Right. Thank you."

Anzu looks out across the park, crossing her legs on the bench they're both sitting on. Yugi stares into his lap. They'd only been going out for two months, but when he arrived at their picnic date earlier that afternoon, he was overwhelmed with a sense of wrong, wrong, wrong. He didn't want this anymore. He wasn't sure if he ever did.

"It about him, isn't it?"

Yugi looks up at her. She's wearing a smaller smile now, gazing off into the distance at something he can't see. Despite the vague question, he knows exactly what she's asking.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It is."

"I figured there was something between you two."

"Well, I've been moping around for almost a year."

She shakes her head. "I mean before. There was something in the way you talked about him, I think. Something lit up in you."

Yugi gropes at his neck for a weight that isn't there. "I just wish…"

He can't finish the sentence. He wishes so much that he wishes he could have done and said with Atem. And so much he wishes he never did.

"I understand," she says quietly, folding her arms over her stomach.

There are few people who truly understand what Yugi feels, but Anzu is one of them. Not completely. But she's very close.

Yugi blinks, and realizes he's crying.

"I really love him," he says, for no other reason than he needs it to be said.

"Not 'loved'?"

He smiles, juxtaposed to the silent tear tracks on his cheeks. "He's dead, but now we know the afterlife is real, right? I can't love him in past tense because he's not really gone. And even if he was, I never stopped loving him anyway."

He thought knowing the afterlife is real would make him feel better, but it did the opposite. Now he knows Atem is in an impossible place that he could never reach. Not for decades.

“You’ll see him again,” Anzu promises, as if reading his mind. “I know you will.”

He wants to agree with her. But he notices the sun setting heavy behind the buildings, casting a brilliant golden light between the reflective glass skyscrapers. She watches the view.

Yugi turns away.

 

 

The moon rises over the darkness of _Aaru_. The desert is still save for the blowing of the reeds on the Nile and the shadow-shape of a person slipping quietly out of the palace. Akhenamkhanen’s footsteps fall light on the sand. He walks with purpose, with determination, and also with fear. He only hopes he is not too late.

There is a place in _Aaru_ that is privy to only the pharaohs – exclusively reserved knowledge for those blessed to reign over _Kemet_ in life, and again in death. A place that few, even the God-Kings themselves, dare tread. It is saved for emergencies and for favors that can never be repaid.

Akhenamkhanen knows that his query is neither. It is not even his favor to ask. But he knows he must try.

Time is different in paradise, so there is no way for the old pharaoh to know how long he was walking before he reaches his destination. He stands and stares as a void of blackness is cut out of the world in the shape of a door, as if by an invisible knife. He reaches into the folds of his _shendyt_ , curling his fingers around the pommel of a curved blade. He reveals the blade to the door, and bows his head.

“With this blade,” he chants, “I show myself to be worthy of entering the Kingdom of Osiris.” He slowly brings the blade down across his hand, and cuts deep. He feels no pain, but the memory of pain echoes in his mind as a shimmering fountain of golden ichor spills across his palm. “And with this blood, I show myself to Pharaoh, blessed of the gods.”

The ichor bubbles like boiling water as it hits the sand, coalescing and growing, climbing up the edge of the void like vines. In a flash of blinding light, the ichor explodes. In its place stands a brilliant glowing door, the same color as Akhenamkhanen’s eternal blood. He looks down at his palm – the cut is already healed. He looks at the door, pushes it open, and walks in.

He hopes he will have the opportunity to walk out again.

The doorway reveals the path to an elaborately decorated throne room of sandstone and marble, eternally lit and glimmering. Portraits of great and terrible battles line the walls, pillars carved in the shapes of hulking beasts hold up the ceiling. A mosaic of the Nile runs from the entrance to the end of the hall, at the feet of a great throne.

Sitting in that throne, taller than the tallest buildings, is Osiris, King of the Living, Foremost of the Westerners, guardian of the _Duat_. He is as magnificent as He is incomprehensible, an eternal being with powers beyond understanding. His skin is a deep black, the _Atef_ crown adorned on His head, the bright red ostrich feathers curling around the _Hedjet_ frame. From the chest down, He wears the trappings of a mummy, bound in bandages that hang off His legs and waist. He holds the crook of the shepherd in one hand like a scepter, and the flail in the other, resting on the arm of His throne. He says nothing as Akhenamkhanen enters. He simply stares. Waiting.

The old pharaoh swallows, keeping his head bowed politely, and walks down the hall. Every step echoes like a drop of water in an empty cave. Every breath he takes is labored, and he can almost feel Osiris’ eyes burning holes into the top of his head. He reminds himself why he came here in the first place, repeating it like a mantra in his mind: _For Atem. For Atem. For Atem_.

He reaches the foot of the throne and drops to both his knees. The crook to his side shifts ever so slightly, the godly wood creaking against the floor.

“Why have you come here, Young Pharaoh?” Osiris booms, and His voices is both comforting and ear-splitting. It reverberates in Akhenamkhanen’s skull and rattles his mind but is quickly overcome with an inexplicable calm. He feels like a hot coal dropped in cold water.

“I have come to ask a boon of you, Lord Osiris,” he answers, voice remarkably steady.

“Bold,” the god chuckles. “You live here many thousands of years and you expect a favor now?”

“It is not for me, Lord.”

Osiris crosses His legs on His throne. “Rise, Young Pharaoh.”

Akhenamkhanen stands, hands trembling. He folds them behind his back hurriedly.

“Curious,” the god continues. “You would ask a favor meant for another?”

“Do not misunderstand my intentions, Lord Osiris. I ask a favor for the _sake_ of another.”

“And what is this favor you ask?”

Akhenamkhanen clenches all of his muscles and stares directly into the face of Osiris, King of the Living. “Surely in all your infinity, you have noticed my son, Atem, is not himself in _Aaru_.”

“Whether he is himself or not is not my place to judge, Young Pharaoh.”

“He is not, Lord. He is greatly… disturbed. He is in pain.”

“Aiding a troubled mind is hardly a favor.”

“No, Lord Osiris, but easing my son’s mind is not what I ask of you. In fact is it something much larger.”

Osiris releases His grip on the flail and rests His gigantic chin in His hand. “I see.”

“There is a boy – a young man, Lord Osiris,” the pharaoh explains. Words are coming easier to him now, his task set out before him so plain. “In the living world. This man was the vessel for Atem’s _Ba_ when he was tasked to save the world from Zorc.”

“Yes, I recall. Yugi Mutou, was it?”

“The very same, Lord Osiris. My son and Yugi cared for each other very deeply.”

“As they were fated to. I fail to see the favor you are asking of me, Young Pharaoh.”

“This man has captured my son’s affections, Lord Osiris. Since arriving in _Aaru_ , he has been distraught with a broken heart. Leaving his ‘ _aibou_ ,’ as he calls it, took a great toll on him.” Akhenamkhanen takes a preparatory breath and lets out his favor in a single rush. “I would ask you to provide him with a second chance at life, Lord Osiris. A chance for him to see the man he loves once again. He spent thousands of years between death and undeath with a responsibility not even the oldest of souls should have to bear.” He drops to his knees again. “He is not happy here, Lord Osiris. And he deserves happiness at the very least as a repayment for his great achievements. Both in life and in death.”

Osiris takes his speech with a long stretch of silence. “So,” He says, at length. “You ask me to grant Atem a second life so that he might reunite his vessel as a favor for defeating Zorc.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Young Pharaoh, you do realize this is against _Ma’at_?”

Akhenamkhanen cringes at His words. “Yes, Lord.”

“A second chance at life for any reason would cause _Isfet_ among the universe. You know this.”

It is not a question. “Yes, Lord.”

“Then you realize that I cannot grant this favor in good standing with the _Ma’at_ of the world.”

Akhenamkhanen nearly sinks to the floor in defeat, preparing to beg.

“Then balance it another way.”

Osiris looks up from the pharaoh at His feet and Akhenamkhanen twists around to see—

“Atem?”

The wild-haired Pharaoh Atem stands at the entrance of Osiris’ throne room, one hand dripping gold, the other clutching a knife, and his eyes set directly on the King of the Living. He stands tall and proud, every inch the king he was in life, possessing all the fire he was fated to have.

Osiris’ face is graced with a tiny smile, amused at the new arrival. “And how would you suggest I do _that_ , Little King?”

Atem strides across the throne room, a confident smirk on his face. “ _Ma’at_ states that justice and fairness grants harmony across the universe. Am I wrong?”

“You are not.”

He reaches where Akhenamkhanen kneels on the floor, staring straight up into Osiris’ eyes. “Would you not be able to grant a favor that initially goes against _Ma’at_ if it was _won_ from you? Fairly?”

Osiris sits up in His throne, intrigued. “What are you suggesting, Little King?”

His father reaches up to his son’s arm. “Atem, you have done so much—”

Atem looks down at his father. He smiles. He winks. He hands over the knife, and reaches into a fold in his _shendyt_. “Don’t worry about me,” he says.

Akhenamkhanen stares into his son’s face, the happiest and most confident he’s seen him in an eternity. He smiles in return, and nods.

Atem returns his focus to Osiris, and reveals a set of dice clutched in one fist. “How about a game?”

 

 

It's dark in the Mutou residence, the only flickering light coming from the TV, washing out the living room in pale blues and whites. It barely illuminates the couch, brushing the edges of a half-asleep Yugi, fist propping up his cheek, continuously nodding off before shooting awake again. He yawns with his whole body, reaching up his arms to stretch, and glances at the electric clock on the side table. It blinks the time in red: 12:36am. He should have been in bed hours ago.

He stares half-lidded at the show he hasn’t been interested in watching since the episode began, but didn’t deem bad enough to change the channel. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he debates the merits of going to bed. He has to help grandpa in the shop the next day (the current day?), but going to sleep brings a sour taste to his mouth. Especially because of the nightmares he’s been having lately – lost in an endless space of white, before being blinded by light and sent hurling through a bottomless pit.

They’re all a little on the nose, considering the anniversary of the Ceremonial Duel is fast approaching. Yugi cuts his subconscious some slack though; it’s all he’s been thinking about for weeks.

He rubs his eyes and leans back against the couch. He can’t avoid sleeping forever just to drag out the days a little longer. It’s not healthy. Besides, what kind of a way to honor his Other Self would that be? He laughs sadly to himself.

Even after learning his name Yugi still can’t resist calling Atem his “Other Self.” It isn’t _wrong_ , necessarily. He definitely _feels_ like he’s been torn in half.

He pushes himself off the couch and huffs, reaching for the remote and flicking the TV off. The darkness fills the room and floods his vision like an overflowing cup. He takes a few seconds to breathe. He always feels safer in the dark.

A loud crack like a lightning strike interrupts his thoughts, makes him double over in shock, and sends him scrambling to throw his hands over his ringing ears. His eyes are blown wide, and he risks looking up the stairs in the direction of the noise. It was so _close_ , like it came from inside the house, but—

He sees light. Too much light. It filters out of the hallway, trickling down the stairway, brilliant and white and impossible. Yugi cowers at the sight of it, blinking hard, rubbing his eyes, trying to make it _go away_. It’s not real. It _can’t_ be.

He looks back up just in time to see a shadow – a person-shaped shadow – appear against the blinding light. It swirls like ink in water, before becoming solid and thrown onto the ground on its hands and knees. The light evaporates in the blink of an eye, and everything is dark again.

Yugi stands stock still in the living room, unsure if he’s hallucinating due to lack of sleep, or if that _really_ just happened and he’s alone with a stranger that was teleported into the house. Stranger things have happened.

“Hello?” he calls, just to be safe. “Is someone there?”

A low groan is what he gets in response. Ice shoots down his spine. Alright. So he’s _not_ alone.

Yugi fumbles for the nearest thing he can grab – the TV remote. “Who are you?” he asks, holding the remote like a weapon and inching toward the stairs. “What do you want?”

The person – whoever they are – doesn’t answer. In the dark, Yugi sees a figure stand, black on black on black. He can only barely make out the shape of them, unbalanced and wobbling, pressing a hand to the wall at the top of the stairs. Yugi presses his back against the opposite side at the bottom of the stairwell, tossing the remote to the opposite hand, and gropes for the lightswitch.

“Whoever you are,” he warns, “I’ve dealt with worse. So _don’t_ try me.”

The stranger finally speaks. “Oh, I would never dream of it.”

A cold stone drops into Yugi’s stomach. He knows that voice. Like a half-remembered song, he _knows_ that voice. He flicks on the lightswitch, heartbeat jumping into his throat, palms growing slick—

The light is yellow-orange and dim by comparison, but it’s all Yugi needs to see exactly what his mind told him was impossible and his heart told him was true. Dark skin, wild hair, draped in a deep purple cape, white tunic and _shendyt_ , showered with gold from head to toe – cuffs on his arms and legs, earrings, rings, belt, collar – and a winged crown on his head. It’s the Pharaoh, it’s his Other Self, it’s—

“Atem?” Yugi breathes, mouth hanging open like a fish on dry land.

Still balancing himself on the wall, Atem smiles. “Yes. I’m back.” He pauses to think for a moment. “I’m back _again_.”

Yugi drops the remote and takes the stairs up two at a time to tackle his Other Self in a hug, burying his face in the crook of the pharaoh’s neck. All at once, he feels his throat tighten and his eyes fill with tears, clutching his Other Self as tight as he can. Atem returns the favor, whispering into Yugi’s hair, “I’m here, _aibou_ , I’m here.”

And Yugi cries and cries and cries.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as livingthedragonlife or on my writeblr as ink-flavored! any comments and feedback are appreciated! <3


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